


lonely with you

by neenya, smokesque



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Bartenders, Dogs, Drinking, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Masquerade Ball, POV Andrew Minyard, Service Dogs, Texting, i know these are all seemingly unrelated but i assure you it makes sense in context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neenya/pseuds/neenya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/smokesque
Summary: andrew tends bars and hooks up with rich men, neil drinks a little more than is advisable and talks shit about his peers, and they meet under a series of unlikely circumstances. (twice.)





	lonely with you

**Author's Note:**

> i almost can't believe i'm actually posting this. back in january, this sat at 2k for about three weeks and i didn't think it would ever be finished but here we are.
> 
> first and foremost, all my love goes to the wonderful [neenya](http://neenya.tumblr.com/) who, of course, drew [the gorgeous art](http://neenya.tumblr.com/post/183275634084) that inspired this fic. thank you for letting me play around with your au and for being so talented that just looking at your art was motivation to write!!
> 
> love, love and more love to my beta and lovely friend eb for having eyes when i did not. you loved this fic at its roughest and for that, i owe you everything. (also without you, neil would still be ordering a long black so thanks for translating my australianisms.)
> 
> also ! shoutout to actual light of my life [gabby](http://yeollie-bells.tumblr.com/) for the andreil + dog park idea. (i totally bastardised her original hc to fit my own needs but she was an angel about letting me run wild with it and all the credit goes to her because without her i would (a) be dead in a ditch probably and (b) still be stuck trying to outline this fic.)
> 
> multitudes of thanks to [gabriella](http://viridianjane.tumblr.com/) who organised the reverse bang, put up with our messy initial attempt at art claims, and was kind enough to give me extensions on check-ins because i've never made a deadline in my life. you are a perfect saint!
> 
> title is taken from [broken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qr1-WpWOUk8) by lovelytheband which is kind of just the anthem for this fic.
> 
> p.s. andrew is almost mellow in this and maybe that's out of character for him but listen he's just a good boy who loves dogs and wants to get better so i'm not apologising for it
> 
> p.p.s. for reference: [aaron's dog](http://www.pethealthnetwork.com/sites/default/files/styles/large/public/article-image-horiz_114.jpg?itok=y72gc3k0) | [neil's dog](https://www.fetchpetcare.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/img_3666.jpg)

If you asked Andrew, which no one had but he was willing to give this one away for free, rich people could do without the strobe lights. The surround-sound speaker system he understood—the way the bass shook the floor and sent the glasses lined up behind the bar vibrating was admittedly impressive—and even the smoke machine, though unnecessary, provided an aesthetic Andrew could get behind. But the strobe lights seemed more intent on providing a headache. The night wasn’t even half over and Andrew still had far too long before Alvarez was due to relieve him of his duties and give him a chance to nip into the backroom for some painkillers and a smoke.

Squinting his eyes against the rapidly flashing colours illuminating the dance floor, Andrew rubbed away the sweat collecting on the bridge of his nose, resituated his mask, and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He wasn’t technically supposed to drink on the job but he was pretty sure it was inhumane to expect him to stand, fully sober, behind this bar under flashing lights and wisps of smoky entrails all night. The attendants seemed to have slowed down on the alcohol intake after their initial rush to the bar, or else they were happy enough to be sidetracked by the way the dance floor buzzed under one of today’s top hits, so Andrew busied himself cleaning shot glasses and watching his cousin, Nicky, twirl expertly between thrusting bodies, a tray balanced in each hand.

There was a rap of knuckle on hardwood as Aaron circled back round to the bar. He slid a tray of empty glasses towards Andrew and Andrew replaced them with pre-prepared drinks with practised ease, and sent his brother on his way.

Working for  _ Eden’s _ sometimes felt too easy, like Andrew’s hands had grown so familiar with the curve of a glass and the swish of a drink that he’d never train them to do anything else. If he believed in fate, he’d probably believe he was born to do this. Like Aaron was born to mend failing bodies and Nicky was born to build bridges between broken souls, Andrew was born with a clenched fist and a bottle of Jack Daniels. If  _ Eden’s _ was his destiny, the glowing  _ X _ at the centre of his map, Andrew thought he could live with that. Better fingers curled around the neck of a bottle than the outline of someone’s throat. Better late nights spent wiping down bars than fending off sleep for fear of nightmares. He wiped a cloth across the bar, swiping away the pathetic thought alongside the droplets of liquor, and refilled his whiskey.

“You planning on serving your customers or just yourself?”

Andrew looked up, shot glass halfway to his lips and a crease stiffening in his forehead. A man leaned against the end of the bar, a fox mask perched across the bridge of his nose, eclipsing the upper half of his face. The mask was decorated in exquisite detail, the tender brushstrokes leaving the impression of fur leaping right out of the man’s face. But it was his eyes that Andrew found himself focused on: glacier blue and painfully honest. They were a stark contrast to the mask, open and truthful where it was meant only to deceive, and there was something to the shade of them that Andrew couldn’t place, but it stuck in his throat even as he tried to burn it away with a swig of whiskey.

“You planning on ordering or just waiting for something to magically appear?” Andrew turned away from the man and his piercing eyes and his stupid fox mask, redirecting his attention to the bar he was supposed to be cleaning. When he didn’t get a response, he sneaked another look and found the man leaning across the bar on his elbows, his face propped between his hands and a grin licking the corners of his mouth.

“Surprise me,” he said softly, and his voice made Andrew’s head pound worse than the strobe lights. He knocked his tongue against the back of his teeth in annoyance but the man just smiled, hopped up on a bar stool, and returned to leaning against his hands to watch Andrew work.

Andrew surveyed his customer, from the waves of red hair spilling over his brow, to his freckled cheeks, to the lazy smiling curling his lips, and settled on a drink. He poured Jägermeister, Schnapps, whiskey and cranberry vodka over ice into a shaker, before straining the drink and tipping it into a shot glass. He slid it across to the man, who cocked his head in question.

“What is it?”

Andrew shrugged. “Surprise.”

The man smiled again, raised the glass in mock toast to Andrew, and tilted his head to knock it back. He resurfaced with a flinch and pulled a face, setting the glass down with a clink.

“I’m remembering why I hate alcohol,” he said, shoving the empty glass in Andrew’s direction. Andrew glanced at it and back up at the stranger before wiping a careful circle around it and continuing with his lap of the bar.

“You ordered it.”

“Yeah, well.” The stranger folded himself halfway across the bar once more, watching as Andrew reached the far end and detoured back. “I thought it would be less painful for both of us if I gave the small talk a miss. Alli says I’m not very good at it.”

_ Alli as in Allison Reynolds _ , Andrew assumed. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that the stranger—a guest—was friendly with the hosts’ daughter, but it rubbed Andrew the wrong way all the same. The Reynolds were billionaires through and through, every bit as snobbish and painfully proud of it as the next old money family. This man with his delicate fox mask, and his mysterious blue eyes, and his tendency to gravitate towards the bartender instead of mingling among the other invitees seemed dangerously unsuitable company for the tight social circle the Reynolds confined themselves in.

“You could have given it a miss on the other side of the dance floor, if it was sparing me from pain you were concerned about.”

“I wasn’t,” the man said, pointing at a sticky patch on the bar that had managed to evade the cloth. Andrew deliberately skirted a wide berth around it in response. “It’s myself I was sparing.”

Andrew shrugged indifferently, tossed the cloth into the sink, and reached once more for his whiskey. With little else to distract him, the stranger had held his attention for several minutes but Andrew was beginning to lose interest. His watch told him he only had another hour before his break. Maybe Aaron or Nicky would come by soon with more drink requests. It would give him something to do, at least.

“Plus, I figured you had nothing better to do,” the stranger continued, unprompted. Andrew considered ignoring him until he had the good sense to disappear, but Nicky seemed to have abandoned waiting duties in favour of grinding against a man in a mardi gras mask and Andrew couldn’t even see Aaron amongst the smoky haze and twirling bodies.

“I’m flattered by your high opinion, of course.”

The man smiled and beckoned Andrew conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you a secret.”

Andrew leaned closer despite himself, his mask slipping slightly down his nose as he bent his head forward.

“I’m not exactly popular in this crowd. Can’t say I’m all that fond of them either. I’m only here because Alli kicks up such a fuss when I don’t show, but I’m not really a fan favourite.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Andrew said. The man knocked against the bar in objection.

“Can I tell you another secret?”

Andrew didn’t respond, which the man apparently took to mean he wouldn’t be stopped.

“I might be a little drunk.”

“You only had one drink.”

Andrew thought it was a fair enough assumption, since he’d only served him once, but the man laughed, as if this accusation were ridiculous.

“You’ve never attended one of these on the guest list then,” he said. Andrew couldn’t argue but he wasn’t fond of the turn this conversation had taken. It was seeming less and less like Andrew had the upper hand and more and more like the basis of their interaction once again rested on a social status he didn’t have. “Day is here tonight so Matt brought vodka and I ended up a clear path from him with the bottle in hand, so I had no choice. I skolled it.”

It wasn’t a particularly impressive tale. Andrew tugged his dishcloth from over his shoulder and picked up a dripping glass from the rack. The menial task had, at some point, become more interesting than the stranger, which put the conversation he seemed hell-bent on continuing on dangerous ground.

“See, because Day goes through vodka like it’s a competition of which he is the reigning, and only, champion. That’s the not-so-hot gossip at the moment, Alli says. So it’s about how long we can keep the drink away from him all night.”

Andrew flicked the man what he hoped was a contemptuous look, but it was wasted on the back of his head. The man was too focused on the crowd to pay attention to Andrew’s scorn.

“Day’s an alcoholic so you all dangle his favourite drink in front of his nose to taunt him?”

“Secret number three,” the man said, holding up three fingers and turning back to Andrew. “Rich people are fucking  _ nasty _ .”

“Hardly a well-kept one,” Andrew said. The man lifted one shoulder nonchalantly and surveyed the crowd again.

“You see those two over there?” The man pointed at a couple in matching blue-feathered masks, lurking at the edge of the dance floor. Andrew doubted the eerie canyon between them and the rest of the guests was accidental. “That’s the Moreaus. Used to be old money until they fell out with some big names. Word in these circles is their fortune was more important than their son, so they cut him out to settle debts. See? Fucking nasty.”

“What happened to the son?” Andrew asked, interest piqued despite his austere attempts to bury it.

“That’s secret number four,” the man said, “but I’m not drunk enough to tell you that one yet.”

It wasn’t a thread worth pursuing. Andrew had seen worse hardships than estranged sons and alcoholics. He had  _ lived _ worse hardships than most of the Reynolds’ guests would deign to imagine. It didn’t matter anyway. Andrew was born to serve drinks and clean bars, not gossip with wealthy men in anonymous masks. He was born for the hard sting of liquor and the pounding of club music, not the soft starlight spun from this stranger’s voice. He was born with hands stained blood red, not blue of glaciers and mysteries and eyes peeking out behind fox features. He worked his shift to pay his part of the rent, smoked cigarettes in the backroom, and did not care for the petty concerns of rich people.

Andrew abandoned his dishcloth, leaned his forearms against the bar, and said, “Tell me about the rest of them.”

By the time Alvarez tapped the bar beside Andrew’s elbow to alert him to her presence, the fox-faced stranger was deep into a detailed summary of the three-years-and-counting long feud between the Boyds and the Dermotts. Andrew, somewhat bafflingly, found that he was in no hurry to disappear into the backroom without hearing the explanation of which side of the division each family fell upon. He tossed his dishcloth at Alvarez and made no further move to leave, but the man paused when he caught sight of the extra presence.

“Oh.” He glanced at Andrew, as if realising for the first time that Andrew had come on duty, not because he wanted to sip champagne and gossip about the other attendants all night. “I’ll just– I should get back out there.”

The man jerked a hand vaguely at the writhing dance floor and stood from where he perched on the stool. Andrew watched him, tapped his finger twice against the bar, and turned to Alvarez.

“Make sure Nicky stays out here,” he said and beckoned to the stranger. “Coming?”

They stared each other down for several loaded seconds, before Andrew shrugged and stepped away. It didn’t matter. He needed a cigarette and an ibuprofen and he intended to take them with or without the side order of mouthy men in fox masks.

“Have fun,” Alvarez called as Andrew’s palm connected with the swinging door to the hallway. She made no effort to hide the innuendo in her voice, but Andrew knew she knew better than to expect a response.

The backroom was three times the size of the storage closet that served as a staffroom at  _ Eden’s _ . Coat hooks lined two adjacent walls, hugging a door that led to a connected shower and changing unit, and a small kitchenette sat facing the hallway out to the main ballroom. There stood a bookshelf just inside and to the left of the door, but its shelves were filled with liquor bottles and crates of wine rather than books.

Andrew made a beeline for his black trench coat, hanging three hooks down from the change room door. He dug in the pocket and came up with a box of cigarettes and a sheet of painkillers. He popped two into his hand, swallowed them dry, and flicked open the cigarette box, before he bothered addressing the other presence in the room.

The man looked out of place, dressed head to toe in livery that screamed wealth. His eyes darted across the expanse of the room, lingering on the bathroom door and the fire escape, propped open with a brick. Andrew tucked his cigarette behind his ear, slid the pack into his pocket, and sat on the edge of the table to watch the man. When those blue eyes finally finished their surveillance and came to settle on Andrew, the man tipped his head in consideration.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here.”

Andrew had been planning to slip outside before lighting up. Instead, he picked the cigarette from behind his ear and rolled it between his fingers a couple times.

“Shouldn’t I?” he said lazily, flicking his lighter until the flame caught. He propped the cigarette between his lips and held the lighter to the other end, taking a careful inhale to ignite the cherry. The man didn’t seem particularly phased, his righteous streak clearly more for show than anything. He leaned against the wall by the door frame and let Andrew take several drags in peace.

“I think you’re all up to date on current drama,” the man said, finally breaking the silence, “but I could tell you about the scandal when the truth about Day’s father came out.”

When Andrew glanced up, the man wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were hidden from view, head bent as he picked at his nails. He looked relaxed with his shoulders slouched back against the wall, like there was no threat that could touch him in sight, like Andrew wasn’t a ticking time bomb that would explode at the first whisper of trouble. Andrew wanted to tell him to fuck off. Andrew wanted to make him stay.

“Stop talking,” he said, burnt a ring into the wooden tabletop with his half-smoked cigarette, and got to his feet with the stick once more tucked behind his ear. He stopped a scant inch from the man and hovered his hands either side of his freckled cheeks. “Yes or no?”

The man didn’t say  _ no _ but the way he stiffened at Andrew’s words, the way his shoulders (once so casually slumped) raised to hug his ears, the way he dropped his nails in favour of clenching his hands into fists at his side, said enough. Andrew stepped back, pulled out the half cigarette and began rolling it once more. The man blinked at him, opened and closed his mouth twice, loosened his fingers, and sighed.

“I’m not interested in that.”

Andrew didn’t know if he meant sex or guys or Andrew specifically, but it didn’t matter. He heard the  _ no _ that the man wouldn’t say loud and clear.

“Why did you come?” he asked, though he hadn’t meant to. It  _ didn’t _ matter. Nothing would come of opening himself up to Mr. Fox-Face, Blue-Eyes, Not-Interested-in-That. Andrew wasn’t stupid.

“I thought– You’re a good listener,” the man said, tongue tripping over words, fingers tripping over each other. He scratched at his palms and picked at his cuticles and pointedly didn’t look at Andrew. Andrew tried not to think it was a shame—he tried not to be stupid.

“You thought I invited you back here to  _ talk _ ?”

The man shrugged but abandoned the gesture halfway through, leaving his shoulders hunched against his neck. Andrew would guess the man had several inches on him, but, like this, he looked small, a pint-sized shell of something that had fled from the room.

“I can go,” he muttered, his voice waning and losing its way in the air between them. Andrew looked from his raised shoulders to his scratched palms to his eyes, blue and brilliant and wide as a rabbit’s in the face of a dog. It didn’t matter. Andrew wasn’t stupid.

“Stay,” he said and pretended the word didn’t burn like bile on the way up. He turned his back on the man to step over to the table again (or to avoid the sight of him uncurling from himself, or maybe just to catch his breath).

The silence hung between them like a weighted thing, so palpable that Andrew felt crushed under it. He lit his cigarette again just for something to do, and waited.

“So Day’s father, right?” the man said and, when Andrew looked up, he found the man had migrated across to the table, hovering hesitantly in front of Andrew. He paused patiently until Andrew tilted his head and waved a careless hand to indicate he was listening. The man leaned up against the table at Andrew’s side and began to relate the scandalous behaviour of his peers.

The man talked and Andrew smoked and the rest of the night was lost to endless chatter.

#

Breathing in felt like inhaling thorns. The brisk January air pricked Andrew’s throat, needling pain all the way down to his lungs. He swallowed around the discomfort, took another breath, and twisted a loop into the leash clasped in his hand. Link pranced across the frosty grass on his stubby legs, circling back to nose at Andrew’s ankles before darting off the path again. He never seemed to mind the harsher winters, his long, silky coat keeping out the nip of the breeze. Andrew buried his chin in his scarf and glared at Link, who yapped happily in response.

The dog park came into view ahead, along with the mingled sounds of barking and yelling carried on the wind. The park was split in two by a mesh fence, separating the big dogs from the small dogs to prevent, Andrew assumed, mauling. Link was eight inches and fully grown, but Andrew swung open the big dog gate anyway. He had learned from experience that Link was a friendly and enthusiastic dog, but brutally mean and notorious for picking, and winning, fights despite his stature. (Nicky’s resulting joke about the similarities between Andrew and Link had been short lived.) They entered the park and Andrew coiled the leash tighter around his hand as Link strained against it, desperate to launch himself into the fray of dogs. Andrew skirted around the crowd to stop under a tree that acted as a shield against the cool wind, before he bent to unclip Link and send him on his way.

He was content to stand alone with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets and scarf bunched to cover the lower half of his face while Link wore himself out chasing dogs, collecting frisbees, and nuzzling into the attention of other owners. He didn’t mind the dog park because most of its occupants were more fascinated by the dogs than their owners and small talk was a rarity. He always watched from afar, keeping a careful eye on Link and another on the cluster of people should any of them decide to attempt to engage him.

Andrew took up his usual vigil, shivering into his jacket as a draft whipped around the tree. A large Tibetan mastiff broke away from the group of dogs he was watching and trotted his way, shaking its head as it approached. Andrew almost envied it for its thick hair and shaggy mane, no doubt a sight warmer than his own winter coat. The mastiff stopped a few feet from Andrew and they stared one another down with clear animosity.

“I’m not going to throw a stick for you,” Andrew said, removing one hand from his pocket to flick his fingers in dismissal. He had read somewhere that Tibetan mastiffs were supposed to be intelligent creatures. (Later, he’d told Aaron he should get one so Andrew would have someone of similar intellect around the apartment. Aaron had told him to piss off and instead adopted the most opposite breed of dog he could find, probably just to spite Andrew.) This particular mastiff, however, seemed to be a genetic anomaly. Instead of taking the hint, it risked a tentative step forwards, stopping several inches closer. Andrew glared. The mastiff waited.

“Hey?”

Andrew turned to see a man making his way towards them, one arm outstretched in a half-wave above his head. His outfit—thin, long-sleeved shirt, ratty jeans, plimsolls—looked entirely too light for the cold weather, but for the woolen beanie covering his hair. The man drew to a halt beside the mastiff and rested one hand on her head, lacing his fingers through her thick fur.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, shrugging at Andrew. “She doesn’t like to initiate contact. I kind of think it’s like she’s asking for permission, but it sometimes puts people off when she just stares at them. You can pet her if you like.”

Andrew didn’t really like, but the mastiff and her owner were both watching him with baleful eyes, both patiently awaiting permission. He stepped forwards against his better judgement and crouched to make eye contact with the dog, blinking silently at her before reaching out one hand and letting her push her snout into his palm. He rubbed the heel across her forehead and combed back the hair frizzing between her ears. She pushed forwards in gratitude and her nose pressed briefly into his forearm, dragging a damp patch across his jacket.

“Kevin,” the man said and Andrew glanced up at him, the twitch in his eyebrow betraying his confusion. “Her name is Kevin.”

When they say ignorance is bliss, Andrew thought this is probably what they meant—he almost wished the man hadn’t bothered to clarify.

“That is tragic,” he said, scratching behind Kevin’s ears in apology on behalf of her owner. “And yours?”

“Neil.”

Andrew hummed, rubbed his hand down Kevin’s neck, and got to his feet.

“Andrew,” he offered belatedly. Neil nodded, his hand returning to its space between Kevin’s ears.

“Are you here with someone?” Neil asked, focusing his gaze on the park’s other occupants instead of Andrew.

“A dog.”

Neil eyed Andrew sideways, a brief movement that could almost have been an eye roll.

“Obviously. I meant which one?”

“You should have said that then.” Andrew brought two fingers to his lips and breathed between them, a shrill whistle cracking through the air. The cluster of dogs froze, heads tilted and ears cocked to the sound, except for Link who made a roundabout turn and raced back over to Andrew and Neil.

“The tiny dog who picks fights with others twice his size is  _ yours _ ?” Neil said incredulously.

“Not mine. My brother’s,” Andrew said. Neil didn’t seem to hear. He had dropped to his knees on the ground and was scratching under the chin of a very smug-looking Link.

“Hey, little guy,” he said. Link barked eagerly. “What’s your name?”

Link barked again, high-pitched and excited. Neil laughed and dug his fingers through Link’s fur.

“Oh yeah? That’s a good one.” He imitated the bark, which made Link repeat it and, in turn, made Neil laugh again. Andrew glared at the ridiculous scene.

“He’s lying. His name is Link.”

At the sound of his name, Link took to running tight circles around Neil, his stubby tail wagging happily along behind him. He paused when he caught sight of Kevin, but only for a split second before he was bouncing over to her, yipping delightedly up at her. Kevin stared at him with the same tentative greeting that she had used to regard Andrew earlier.

“They’re friends,” Neil said, getting to his feet with twin dirt patches staining his knees. He didn’t look at all put out by the sudden lack of interest in him as Link barked in Kevin’s face then hopped backwards away from her on repeat. Instead, he moved to stand alongside Andrew, leaving a slight gap between their aligned shoulders. Like this, Andrew could tell Neil only had a few inches on him. If they turned to face one another, Andrew thought he’d probably be at nose-height.

He forcibly shifted his gaze back to where their dogs were engaged in some form of canine introduction. Neil remained quiet but Andrew could feel eyes on the side of his head. It unsettled him in ways he couldn’t have explained and wouldn’t bother trying.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out. He had to squint at the dimly lit screen to make out the preview of the text message.

> **aaron**   
>  N came round demanding to know about some guy    
>  named Foxy?? come deal wi…

It was hardly incentive to return home. Nicky had been pestering him for details via every available platform ever since their gig at the Reynolds’ ball. Andrew was tempted to leave Aaron in the lurch, but it was cold out and Neil was still staring at Andrew like he held the answer to an unvoiced question.

“Link,” he said to capture the small dog’s attention, and crouched when Link trotted over to him. He clipped the end of the leash to Link’s collar and scratched briefly across his head. “We’re leaving.”

He wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Link or to Neil but it didn’t really matter. His skin itched beneath the layers of clothes he’d piled on. He needed to get away from here, from this, from  _ Neil _ .

“Alright,” Neil said. Andrew stared down at Link to avoid looking at him. “See you round, Andrew.”

Andrew flicked two fingers, tugged on Link’s leash, and forced himself not to turn as he left the dog park.

#

**nicky** added  **you** ,  **aaron** , and  **alvarez** to the conversation.

**nicky** named the conversation “ **operation: find foxy** ”.

**nicky**   
it’s time!!!!!!

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** to the conversation.

**you**   
not interested, nicky.

**nicky**   
just let me do one thing for u andrew :((((   
al thinks she can get insider information

**you** **  
** still not interested.

**nicky**   
u deserve this   
just admit u had a good night and let us help u

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** to the conversation.

**nicky** **  
** andrew!!!!!!

**aaron** left the conversation.

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** and  **aaron** to the conversation.

**nicky**   
not u too aaron!!!!

**aaron** **  
** i have nothing to do with this

**you**   
neither do i.

**nicky**   
dont u even want to kno what info al has???

**you**   
no.

**aaron** **  
** no.

**nicky** **  
** :(((((   
i’ll tell u anyway

**you**   
unsurprising.

**aaron**   
i assumed you would

**nicky**   
i hate when u two team up

**alvarez**   
hey HEY   
why are yall bein so loud at this early hour

**aaron**   
it’s 3pm

**alvarez**   
yeah   
why are yall bein so loud at this early hour

**nicky**   
al!!! tell the twins our plan!!!!!

**alvarez**   
ooh bitch yes   
we’re a go then??

**you**   
you have thirty seconds.

**alvarez**  
so as it happens i may know someone who knows several someones  
who are potentially mr foxy

**you** **  
** never mind time’s up.

**alvarez**   
min u haven’t even heard the best part

**you** **  
** stop calling me that.

**alvarez**   
let me tell u the rest

**you**   
i suppose it can’t possibly get worse.

**alvarez**   
im asking laila to set up a lineup of possible foxys

**aaron**   
andrew?   
i’m pretty sure it got worse?

**alvarez**   
shut up yard

**you**   
it got worse.

**aaron**   
you know we have names?   
like you can just call us by our first names

**alvarez**   
nope   
anyway hemmick and i will work with laila   
yard ur here for moral support

**aaron**   
i don’t support any of you

**alvarez**   
min just stand there and look pretty

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** to the conversation.

**nicky**   
andrew   
we’re trying to help

**you** **  
** you can help by staying out of my business.

**nicky**   
i know u wont go looking for foxy by urself   
u have to try andrew   
i want u to be happy

**you**   
drop it, nicky.

**nicky**   
:(   
fine

**alvarez**   
so no lineup?

**you**   
no lineup.

**nicky**   
rip hottie in the fox mask   
he was a CATCH andrew   
A CATCH

**you**   
nicky.

**nicky** **  
** okay okay

**aaron**   
so can i just ?

**aaron** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **aaron** to the conversation.

**nicky** named the conversation “ **supreme dream eden team** ”.

**aaron**   
this is the worst day of my life

#

Inexplicably, Neil managed to weave his way into Andrew’s routine. It turned out he was a Saturday morning regular at the dog park, always in torn up jeans and long-sleeved shirts, always with Kevin at his heel, and always wearing some form of hat jammed over his hair. As the weeks warmed up, Andrew exchanged the winter coats for thin cardigans, but Neil always showed up in some variation of the same outfit like he hadn’t noticed the change in weather.

Their dogs made an unlikely pair, prancing around one another and racing to retrieve the balls Neil threw for them. Kevin would circle back to Neil every so often, rubbing her nose into his palm and pressing her flank to his thigh as if checking up on him. Link always followed her, but only to bark at Andrew’s ankles several times before losing interest.

It became comfortable, spending the morning under the tree with Neil. Andrew had made a habit of walking Link to the dog park every Saturday, ever since Aaron’s study-partner-slash-girlfriend had started frequenting their apartment on a weekly basis. The alter to his routine was surprising but not unwelcome, and he found he didn’t mind chipping a Neil-sized space into his life. Bee would be proud.

“I can take Link today,” Aaron said one Saturday, spreading toast at the kitchen counter while Andrew blended a milkshake. Winter had finally given way and the morning felt warm and bright. Andrew was almost looking forward to leaving the house.

“It’s fine,” he said, because it was. He and Neil had discussed survival strategies for a zombie apocalypse the week before and Andrew had both texted Renee for her opinion and picked up a copy of  _ Patient Zero _ from the library the following day. He was feeling prepared to defend his strategy with a more educated view.

Aaron shot him a confused look. “Katelyn isn’t coming over. The apartment will be empty.”

Andrew hadn’t told Aaron about Neil because it wasn’t the kind of thing they talked about. They didn’t talk much at all, other than the brief interactions that inevitably came from living in one another’s space. It often surprised other people how little they shared, despite being twins, but, the way Andrew saw it, they already shared a mother and a birthday and a home. They had shared a womb for nine months. There wasn’t much more they could give without losing themselves.

“Bee says routine is good for me,” Andrew said eventually, which was a truth but not the one Aaron was looking for. He accepted it though, shrugging and biting into his toast.

“Don’t forget the poop bags,” he said as he left the kitchen. Andrew watched him disappear and sipped quietly at his milkshake.

 

Neil was already under their tree by the time Andrew and Link arrived, watching Kevin sniff at a friendly greyhound. He smiled at Andrew’s approach and Kevin abandoned her new friend to bound over to Link. The two dogs soon disappeared into the crowd of other puppies and Neil and Andrew stood in silence for several minutes, basking in the warm air and the fresh smell of flowers in blossom.

“So, the apocalypse,” Andrew said, finally interrupting the quiet atmosphere between them. “We need to know how it starts in order to plan the best strategy.”

He glanced sideways at Neil and found the other was already watching him, a grin creeping up his cheeks.

“Right,” Neil agreed, forcing a somber look onto his face and throwing himself into their discussion.

Time always passed quicker in Neil’s presence. Andrew wasn’t sure on the logistics of it, but he had grown used to the way hours became minutes became seconds became the blink between one thread of conversation and another. Every weekend spent with Neil served to grow Andrew’s curiosity. He harboured questions under his tongue, but none of them felt appropriate for a public dog park at ten am on a Saturday. He had asked, once, why Neil never seemed to go anywhere without a hat. Neil had laughed and said he wasn’t fond of his appearance and the honesty had tasted so bitter in the air between them that Andrew hadn’t pushed.

By twelve, the dog park was full of an almost entirely different crowd than when they first arrived, and Andrew figured it was time to call it a day. He leashed Link, and Neil called Kevin to heel, where she obediently shadowed him. At the gate, Andrew paused, one hand on the fence and the other twisting loops into Link’s leash. They had taken to leaving the park together but never in the same direction, and Andrew still hadn’t mastered his goodbyes.

“I’m in the mood for a coffee,” Neil said, shielding his eyes against the midday sun and peering down the path towards the high street. “Interested?”

“No,” Andrew said, out of habit, then reconsidered and added, “Ice cream.”

“Ice cream,” Neil agreed and set off with Kevin in tow.

They stopped outside a small, fairly empty cafe, that offered both coffee and ice cream. Andrew handed Link’s leash to Neil, who took it and made himself comfortable under the shade while Andrew went in to order.

“Could you grab me an americano?” he said as Andrew pushed open the door. Andrew gave him a mock salute before entering. The cafe was quiet and dimly lit, light chatter and soft background music filling the air. There was no queue so he walked right up to the counter, ordering a cone of chocolate fudge for himself and an americano (no milk, no sugar) for Neil.

They walked languidly up the high street as Andrew ate his ice cream. (Neil had drank half his coffee, called it garbage, and chucked the rest.) They had to stop every few feet to let the dogs sniff at lampposts or beg attention from passing children but, with no real destination in mind, the interruptions didn’t bother them.

By the time they reached the street towards Andrew’s apartment, his cone was gone and the sun was beating heavily on their necks and shoulders. Andrew gestured to indicate he was heading right and Neil paused, glancing around to get his bearings.

“I think I need to go back the way we came,” he said, “but, here, let me pay you back for the coffee. I don’t have cash on me, but text me your details and I can transfer the cost.”

“It was a coffee, Neil, it didn’t exactly bankrupt me,” Andrew said. He had learned, despite Neil’s wholly unfashionable attire, he was well above comfortable in his wealth. For some reason, his insistence on covering the cost of one coffee irked Andrew, as though he thought three dollars fifty would make or break Andrew’s finances.

“Oh.” Neil blinked at the phone in his hand and hastily shoved it back into the pocket of his jeans. Andrew watched him and thought better of his response.

“But give me your number anyway. In case I need to text you about zombies.”

Neil grinned at that and they exchanged numbers, before Andrew turned away, leaving Neil standing alone on the street corner. It was a longer walk home than usual, having taken the detour along the high street, but the distance passed without Andrew’s notice. The whole way, his phone burned into his skin through the back pocket of his pants.

#

**neil**   
Walk tonight? I’m feeling antsy

**you**   
park in 30.

**neil**   
Okay.

 

Andrew made it to the park within twenty minutes, but Neil was still waiting by the time he arrived, seated on the bench just outside the gate. Kevin rested her head on his left thigh and his hand absently combed through her hair. He looked worn out and more jittery than Andrew had ever seen him. His eyes darted from side to side, like he was seeking out escape routes for an apocalypse that wasn’t coming. Andrew swore he caught the reflection of blades in Neil’s glassy gaze.

“Hey,” he called out from several yards away, because he couldn’t stand the tension leaking from Neil’s posture. Neil flinched and let his eyes come to rest on Andrew, finally stilling their frantic movements.

“Andrew,” Neil said, all breath.

“Neil,” Andrew replied and watched him melt into the sound of his name.

Andrew came to a halt in front of Neil and they faced one another silently, listening to the crickets calling from the nearby trees and the faraway sound of cars passing by. Daylight was slowly fading into a warm summer night and the park was empty but for the two of them and the nightlife gradually making itself known. Andrew heard an owl’s hoot from the copse across the other side of the park, but he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off Neil to search for it. He wasn’t sure what he was so scared off, as though Neil might disappear seamlessly into the night if Andrew so much as blinked.

When the staring contest became too much for Andrew, he tilted his head in the direction of the path that wound onwards through the trees. Neil nodded, almost invisible in the dusky light, and got to his feet. Kevin’s head slipped from his thigh but she pressed her nose into his palm and stayed close to his side as he walked. They followed the path as it curved around the perimeter of the dog park before turning off into the small thicket that took up the rest of the parklands. Solemnity hung all around them—even Link was subdued from his usual boisterous nature, where he scampered slightly ahead of them. Andrew didn’t know what had brought Neil out to this park in the late evening, what had painted the knives into his pupils, but it left curiosity and concern burning at the back of his throat.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” he announced as they ducked under a low-hanging branch.

“Okay,” Neil said agreeably.

“Why Kevin?”

“You mean her name?”

Andrew hummed confirmation and Neil huffed a laugh. “Kevin—my friend Kevin—bitched about me getting an emotional support dog so I named her after him out of spite. Her full name is Better Kevin.”

Andrew’s cheek twitched and he turned his face away, though he doubted Neil would be able to make out the small smile in the dark, even if he had been looking.

“What about you? Why Link?”

Andrew looked down at the dog in question and battled with a different kind of smile, less humour and more fondness.

“My brother named him after the first thing we ever bonded over.”

He had grown used to the weight of Neil’s stare on him over the past months, the way it asked without asking, the way it made Andrew want to answer. Honesty was an inevitability, but evasion was Andrew’s best party trick. Neil’s gaze made it hard not to spill his guts.

“We grew up apart and when we first met we didn’t get along,” he said, stripping it back to the barest minimum of the truth. “Once I caught him playing Zelda at our cousin’s house. He was shit and it was painful to watch, so I showed him how to do it.”

Neil laughed, a cracked and hoarse sound, but it was hopeful. Andrew was familiar with the pattern of his own recovery, the erratic unstitching of years’ worth of trauma, but he had never been someone who fixed things. He didn’t have Bee’s tender tone, her unerring knowledge, or her special knack for hot chocolate.  Neil’s laugh felt like a gift Andrew hadn’t worked hard enough for. It scared and reassured him in equal parts—he wasn’t someone who fixed things, but maybe he could be. Maybe healing didn’t have to be abrasive.

His hands shook as he took out a cigarette and lit up. It was a distraction as much as anything else. He needed the smoke in his lungs so he didn’t have to focus on breathing. An upturned palm shot into his line of view and he followed it up the arm to Neil’s expectant face.  Andrew propped his own cigarette between his lips, tipped another into Neil’s hand and offered his lighter. Neil lit his but didn’t smoke it, instead cupping it close to his face and breathing deeply. Andrew would have asked but he was in no position to question the health of Neil’s coping mechanisms. Instead, he looked away and let the crickets speak for him.

“Do you believe in fate?” Andrew asked around an exhale, when the silence stretched long enough for half his cigarette to burn away. Smoke spilled from between his lips and he imagined he could see the words taking shape amongst it, billowing away towards the clouds, breaking apart before they could leave any real impact.

“Fate? No, not really,” Neil said. His fingers twisted in Kevin’s hair and she gave a low whine, pressing closer to his leg. “I guess sometimes my friends say we were always meant to meet. The universe planned it. I like that. I don’t really believe it, but it’s nice to think about.”

“Sometimes I think I was always meant to tend bars.”

Andrew didn’t know why he had said that. It had slipped out before he had time to formulate a thought around it. Neil didn’t even know he was a bartender, and Andrew liked that. He liked that around Neil, he could pretend he was made for greater things.

“What do you mean?” Neil asked, his voice cocked in surprise. Andrew mentally unpicked a stitch and wondered what it would take to rewrite his own destiny.

“Nothing,” he said. He blew out a puff of smoke and thought about how his hands shook in everything he did, but for when he filled glasses behind the bar at  _ Eden’s _ , but for when Neil’s fingers had brushed his taking the coffee from him the week before. “Nothing at all.”

#

**nicky**   
omg   
dan just told me   
that   
scarlett said   
during her last shift   
there was a man   
in edens   
our very own edens !!!!!   
who was wearing   
a   
FOX MASK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**aaron**   
you could have sent that all in one message

**nicky**   
its about the SUSPENSE aaron

**alvarez**   
FOXY WAS IN EFENS????

**nicky**   
YES   
AARON GO TELL ANDREW TO CHECK HIS PHONE

**aaron**   
no

**alvarez**   
BUT   
FOXY

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** to the conversation.

**nicky**   
ANDREW WE FOUND HIM

**you**   
i don’t care.

**nicky**   
YES U DO

**you**   
no.

**nicky**   
D:   
but its ur foxy

**you**   
i’m not interested.

**nicky**   
u were with him ALL NIGHT at the reynolds

**aaron**   
gross

**you**   
i said i’m not interested, nicky.

**nicky**   
but whyyyy

**aaron**   
he’s already seeing someone

**nicky**   
what

**you**   
what

**aaron**   
you’ve been taking Link out way more than usual Andrew   
i’m not stupid

**you** **  
** yes you are.   
maybe i just like walking your dog.

**aaron**   
no you don’t

**nicky**   
no u dont

**alvarez**   
no u don’t

**you**   
no i don’t.  
he’s just a friend.

**nicky**   
there’s a HE ???

**You** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **you** to the conversation.

**alvarez**   
spill

**nicky**   
SPILL !!!!!

**you**   
no.

**nicky**   
ur so stingy andrew   
i cant believe u would keep secrets from me, ur favourite person,

**you**   
you are not my favourite person.

**aaron**   
let it go Nicky   
it’s his life

**alvarez**   
min   
what do u want to do about foxy

**you**   
nothing.

**alvarez**   
???   
he’s obviously looking for u

**you**   
i’m not interested.

**nicky**   
this is a WASTE andrew   
a downright SHAME

**aaron**   
you don’t even know him

**nicky**   
HE WAS HOT

**aaron**   
you couldn’t see his face

**nicky** **  
** i know what i saw   
is mystery dog walker hot?

**aaron** left the conversation.

**nicky** added  **aaron** to the conversation.

**aaron**   
i don’t want to know   
please don’t tell us

**you**   
yes.

**nicky**   
!!!!!!!

**aaron** **  
** you only said that to spite me, didn’t you?

**you**   
yes.

**nicky**   
ur such a good kid   
im so happy i raised u

**you**   
you didn’t do shit.

**nicky**   
i RAISED u on my BACK   
ur finally becoming an independent young man

**aaron**   
we moved out four years ago

**nicky**   
i am the best guardian ever

**you**   
yeah, in my experience, you are.

**aaron**   
you were pretty alright

**you**   
could have been worse.

**nicky**   
?!   
al look at my kids   
arent they the best   
aaron could use some work but he’s got the spirit

**aaron** left the conversation.

**You** added  **aaron** to the conversation.

**you**   
no way you’re leaving me to deal with him alone.

**aaron**   
this is the worst day of my life

**alvarez**   
u say that everyday

**aaron**   
yes and everyday i am proven wrong

#

Fridays were not Andrew’s usual shift at  _ Eden’s _ . He worked Saturday through Wednesday and often attended private catering bookings but Thursdays and Fridays were always his. But when Scarlett broke her wrist and had to take time off, Andrew was the only available bartender to make up the shift.  He’d never liked Fridays because, much like Saturday evenings, they saw the club at its most packed. Although Andrew didn’t mind making drinks (Bee said the repetition was therapeutic for him), he preferred slow nights where he could drink between customers and take regular smoke breaks. Friday brought with it an endless stream of club-goers, pressed hip to hip at the bar and all clamouring for attention.

Andrew had waited at  _ Eden’s _ from eighteen and taken up residence behind the bar shortly after his twenty-first birthday. He was a familiar face to many of their regulars, but he kept customer interactions to a clipped minimum so it was rare that one would recognise him by name. Hearing his name called from further down the bar sent his body stiffening and his shackles raising. He jerked his head up and came face to face with glacier blue eyes peeking out from behind a delicate fox mask.

His breath caught on something rough wedged in his throat and he blinked, uncomprehending, at the man from the Reynolds’ masquerade ball.

“Shit, sorry,” the man said, pushing the mask up his forehead to rest in his hair and revealing an all too familiar face. “It’s me. I, uh- I don’t normally dress like this. I’m looking for someone.”

Andrew, who had been born to tend bars, who knew the inside of a bottle better than that of his own palm, cursed the tremor in his hands as he reached for a glass to complete the tray he was currently working on. Foxy was Neil. Or Neil was Foxy. Andrew couldn’t figure out which identity held the emphasis. His throat felt dry with the weight of the truth, the collision of his worlds a lump in his chest.

“So,” Neil rapped his knuckles playfully against the bar, “make me a drink?”

It was just as well Andrew had been born for this because his jerky movements were the result of muscle memory, his fingers too numb to respond to anything his brain was telling them. Jägermeister. Schnapps. Whiskey. Cranberry vodka. Shaken over ice, served as a shot. It was an uncommon enough order that Andrew remembered well the last time he had made it.

“Surprise,” he said, offering the shot to Neil. Neil stared at Andrew like he was seeing him for the first time, before tilting his head and tipping back the drink. Andrew watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed, followed it up to the line of his jaw, and further to where his hair spilled around the fox-featured mask.

“How did you know?” Neil asked, and his voice sounded as broken as Andrew’s resolve felt. He signalled to Ginger further down the bar that he was taking his break before jerking his head in the direction of the staff room.

“Coming?” he said as he turned on his heel. Neil came.

Andrew’s jacket hung on his usual hook and he dug through its pocket until his fingers lighted on the stretch of smooth material over cardboard. When he turned, he found Neil leaning against the door frame, painfully reminiscent of a larger backroom at a fancier establishment.

Andrew lifted the mask to cover the top half of his face and watched Neil’s reaction through the eye holes.

“It’s you,” Neil whispered, strained, breathless, wanting.

Andrew shrugged. “I guess so.”

His fingers ached for a cigarette. His palms yearned for Neil. He took neither and settled for swallowing the weight in his throat.

“Are you going to kiss me this time?” Neil asked and Andrew’s hand twitched violently. He lowered the mask so he could regard Neil with a clear view, then let it drop to the bench behind him.

“You’re not interested in that,” he said. Neil glanced sideways, then to his fingers, then back at Andrew. His tongue caught in the dip of his bottom lip, rested there, darted back into his mouth. He looked away again, looked back. His fingers danced around one another.

“I’m interested in you.”

Andrew wished, erratically, that Aaron were here to tell him if hearts were meant to beat like this. It felt unnatural, like a caged thing inside his chest scrabbling desperately towards salvation. He did not know how to release it.

“I’m not stupid,” Andrew said, because he wasn’t. “Nothing will come of it.”

“This isn’t nothing,” Neil said, his words like a blade, his voice like a sheath. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Andrew’s hands yearned. His heart raced. He stepped forwards until he was toe to toe with Neil, one hand braced to the wall behind and the other hovering over Neil’s chin.

“Yes or no?” he asked, softer than intended like a secret. Like a confession.

“Yes,” Neil said.

So Andrew gripped his chin like it was the only thing keeping him tethered and kissed him like the world was melting. Time slipped seamlessly between their open mouths, until all Andrew knew were the fingers fisted in his sleeve, the skin burning beneath his hand, and the way he dissolved into light. Neil tasted like cranberries and fresh air and Saturday mornings, and Andrew could have swallowed him whole.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://palmettoes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
